And the Reason is You
by Mesita
Summary: In which Isaac is a teenage gravedigger with a shitty, unfair life and Scott is the ghost who follows him home one day.
1. Chapter 1

NOTE:

Inspired by Ghost AU by eumonigy.

THANK YOU so much to eumonigy for inspiring this work and also partnering as a beta!

The title from this work comes from The Reason by Hoobastank. If you haven't seen the Scisaac fan-video based on the same song, you should take a look! While this work is not inspired by that video, I thought the parallel was worth mentioning.

* * *

Isaac hated so many aspects of his life, but he hated looking back into his past the most. Looking back proved that the present was that much shittier.

He liked to think that he hit rock bottom a long time ago and he had no other direction to go than up. The problem was he couldn't seem to move up no matter how hard he tried. Every time he made an attempt to better his life, he slipped and fell and everything around him would come crashing down again.

Working the graveyard shift at the Beacon Hills cemetery was supposed to better Isaac's life. Theoretically, if Isaac brought in some part-time money, his father wouldn't feel so hard-pressed for cash. They could afford healthier meals and decent laundry detergent. Isaac wouldn't have to steal the extra rolls of toilet paper from public restrooms anymore. Sure, everything wouldn't transform overnight into some amazing luxury lifestyle, but Isaac liked to think that maybe he could get some decent sleep out of it.

Nothing ever turned out the way Isaac planned. When he applied to work as a gravedigger, he assumed he would be doing so in the light of day, preferably directly after school when his father seemed to be the angriest. No, Isaac's shifts started at the awkward hour of eight o'clock.

There was no way Isaac could handle a normal teenage routine if he worked eight to midnight shifts most weekdays. He ended up coming straight home from school, attempted his homework and then started on a dinner that, half the time, he couldn't even eat because he was rushing out the door for his job. That meant that his father was stuck with the dishes which would only piss off the old man even more—sometimes to the point that Mr. Lahey would wait for his son to get home just so he could remind him just how angry he really was.

And after all that, Isaac would still be stuck with the cleanup.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Every paycheck went to some bill or another, so Isaac couldn't just up and quit his job. The actual work itself wasn't hard. When Isaac learned that he could work alone if he learned how to operate the back hoe, he made that his first priority. Soon, Isaac was trusted enough to just check in with the main office and then go out into the cemetery to dig up fresh graves for funeral services.

It was quiet in the graveyard at night. Beacon Hills Cemetery had a strict curfew at sundown that Isaac didn't mind at all. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a gaggle of weeping widows or other mournful relatives. It wasn't that he couldn't display any sympathy, it was more that he didn't have the energy for it, or that he never knew what to say—especially if he had to ask them to move so he could run his several ton vehicle over their dead loved one just to get to his designated plot.

At first, being alone was the best present Isaac could have given himself. After a few weeks on the job he quickly learned that being alone meant a wandering mind. He tried various methods to keep his mind from heading into dangerous territory, but they all ended in vain.

Headphones made it hard for him to hear the radio in case he was called for assistance elsewhere. They also made it difficult to hear when the backhoe became snagged on something, or if there happened to be a mechanical failure. He tried listening to the radio without headphones, but combined with the usual noises of his job, he could never really hear anything properly anyway.

Eventually Isaac started talking to himself with the hope that he could force his mind to think about other things.

He voiced his opinions about everything. The weather, school, his father, his work, upcoming tests… everything was a potential subject. There was no one around to listen. No one could hear him but himself. It was a harmless venture.

And yet, the only place he could really talk to himself was the graveyard. He'd tried this technique before at home after his father had gone to sleep, or out on the lacrosse field during laps. It wasn't the same. There was something about the graveyard that made him feel like he could speak freely.

It must have been the crickets.

* * *

For as long as Scott could remember, he belonged to the graveyard.

He couldn't remember how he'd arrived. He knew how everyone arrived. There was really only one logical way to appear inside a graveyard like this. The problem was that Scott had no idea how he died.

He knew his name was Scott McCall. He got that from his headstone. He also gathered from his headstone the approximate date on when he died, but not exactly how long. Time sometimes moved so fast for him that seasons went by in the blink of an eye, but time could also crawl along so slowly, an hour felt like an eternity.

At one point, a funeral was held for him. He watched his friends and family mourn for his loss. No one could see him. No one could hear to him. They forced his body into some ridiculous tuxedo that made him look like a penguin. It had to be tailored to fit him properly. Scott hated looking at it. He couldn't remember much of his style, but he knew he wasn't supposed to be in that suit.

He learned a lot about his life in the first few weeks. He had a best friend named Stiles. Stiles used to cry when he came to visit, but that stopped. His eyes occasionally held a glossy sheen to them, but even that went away over time. At first he used to scream at Scott's grave. He would yell and curse and ask Scott why he had to leave him—why everyone had to leave him. Scott would try to answer, but of course Stiles couldn't hear him. No one could.

Eventually Scott stopped responding.

His mother was even worse. She never stopped crying. Sometimes she would tell stories to Scott's headstone. With a shaking voice, she would ask him if he remembered a time when he was little and they would bake Christmas cookies together and the edges always burned in the oven. Scott didn't remember, but he didn't doubt for a second that his mother was telling the truth.

His father never came to his gravestone. Scott wondered if maybe his father was dead, too, or if he just didn't care.

Scott knew time was passing because he sat through several winters. His mother grew tired and Stiles grew taller. He enjoyed their visits, but even those were becoming few and far between. He wondered how long they could keep it up before they gave up on him altogether.

Just sitting by his headstone grew tiresome, so early on, Scott found ways to entertain himself. He figured if he was going to be stuck here for the long haul, he'd better find something to do. He would wander around the cemetery and speak with a few of the inhabitants, but he quickly found that talking to other ghosts was counterproductive.

Many ghosts were not as fortunate as him. They had been dead for such a long time that they'd forgotten much of who they were. Many of them made up their own stories and proceeded to forget even those.

There was one collective thought from everyone that Scott picked up over the years: each ghost was here for a reason.

Some spirits found their reasons straight away and disappeared quickly. If everyone turned into a ghost after they died, the cemetery would be crawling with apparitions. In reality, there were only a handful of the Dead, and most of them were, in Scott's opinion, total nutcases.

The Living weren't much better. Most people cried or told stories in which Scott showed no interest. It was safe to say that barely anyone even registered on Scott's radar.

Until Isaac.

Isaac was the new gravedigger. He was tall and thin and pale with a mop of curly blonde hair and the most expressive mouth Scott had ever seen. He started working at the cemetery a little while back, but Scott swore he'd seen him before. The familiarity caused Scott to keep an eye on the new employee, mostly trying to figure out why he was jolting his memory.

Scott also tried to keep track of the days since he'd first seen Isaac, but he lost count after he ran out of fingers. It didn't help when most days molded together and he couldn't tell if a week or a month had passed.

What stayed consistent throughout Isaac's time at the graveyard was his attitude.

Sure, he came to the cemetery with many of the same emotions most of the Living had: anger, sadness, and frustration. His difference was that he felt those about himself, or about the Living. He didn't come to the graveyard to dwell on those lost. He dwelled on those still walking around.

Scott was no mind reader, and it wasn't like he could pick up on emotions as if they traveled on the wind, but Isaac wore his heart on his sleeve whether he wanted to or not.

Isaac took his anger out on his work. Scott knew Isaac was going to have a bad night when he came in looking worse than the night before. New cuts and bruises would often appear on his face and arms every night. Scott suspected there were more hiding under his clothing. He would spend hours hovering over Isaac as the curly haired teen grumbled over the many knobs and levers in the cabin of the back hoe. He watched the sweat trickle down his neck even though the leaves told him it was autumn.

There was something so familiar about Isaac. Scott knew almost nothing about him. He gathered his name from when Isaac began training—or at least that's how he thought he remembered it. Everything else he knew about Isaac, the boy said it himself.

Everyone spoke about their lives at the graveyard, but they only talked about the good. Children told their dead parents all about their birthdays and weddings and new babies. Isaac talked to the dirt about how much he hated his father.

He told the headstones how his father decided he didn't like the way Isaac overcooked the macaroni for dinner and threw the scalding food at him. His shoulder and forearm were burned and the pain was making it hard for Isaac to properly handle the gears.

After another round of fumbling with the gears, his face twisted in pain, tears pricked at the corner of Isaac's eyes and he eventually threw his head back and screamed in frustration. It sounded more like a howl, and Scott wished more than anything that he could do something about it. He felt guilty for only watching Isaac like this—for hovering instead of helping.

Scott never tried to communicate with the Living after those first few weeks with his mother and Stiles. He'd tried for so long to get them to see him. He made countless attempts to rustle the leaves or blow their hair or even touch them, but nothing ever happened. Eventually he felt like it didn't matter anymore, anyway. They were moving on with their lives, but Scott obviously couldn't move on, even in death.

But with Isaac—Isaac was different. He made Scott want to try again. In the never-ending expanse of ghostly eternity, Scott managed to find this troubled soul and all he wanted to do was fix him. He didn't know how to do it, but he figured at this point, doing anything was better than nothing, so he held out his arms and pressed his palms to Isaac's burned shoulder.

He didn't expect his hands to come into contact with anything solid, so he wasn't at all surprised when they passed straight through the other boy's arm.

Isaac shivered. His arm stiffened. The pain began to seep out of his eyes and disappear.

Determined, Scott tried again, just sweeping his hands through Isaac's burns. He could see the gooseflesh appear on the back of Isaac's neck and felt a sense of pride course through him. He could ease the burning. For once, his icy existence seemed to work for him. Isaac calmed down enough to fix the gears on the back hoe and resume his work with a loud sigh.

Scott was smiling—for the first time since he died, so really, the first time he could ever remember. He made contact—even though Isaac had no idea. Scott knew. Scott saw the difference. He wanted to whoop and to holler and to celebrate but there was no one to share his joy.

To make himself keep that elated feeling, he pressed through Isaac's burns and held his hand there, cooling the flesh and keeping Isaac calm. "You're welcome," he whispered eventually.

Of course, Isaac didn't hear him, but for once Scott didn't mind.

* * *

Despite working at the cemetery for a few months, Isaac never thought of it as haunted. He didn't believe in the supernatural. Ghosts, vampires, werewolves? They were all just stories because the human race had created such a dull existence for itself, it needed to escape somehow.

Isaac assumed that anything strange that happened while at work should be chalked up to coincidence.

Sometimes one window inside the front loader would fog up, but the other would stay clear, in spite of any weather differences. Other times, Isaac swore he worked in a bubble of warmth—especially if the controls on the back hoe were warm to the touch when they should be freezing. He'd lost track of all the times he would turn around sharply, suddenly aware that someone was watching him. Not to mention, on nights when his father had been unrelenting in his behavior, Isaac swore he could feel soothing, feather-light touches to his wounds.

It must have been the isolation of the cemetery. It had to be. He craved the absence of human presence so much that his body was physically reacting to the lack of contact. Ever since his mother and his brother passed away, every bit of human contact Isaac ever had was painful. He couldn't stomach being around people for longer than was required of him. Perhaps his body relished in the sense of being alone?

At some point, Isaac realized that he wasn't alone. He had no idea when the thought came into his mind, but it crept up on him slowly, like a cold or hunger. Soon the feeling began to follow him everywhere. On more than one occasion, he found himself glancing over his shoulder during a test at school because he had the sinking feeling that someone was looking at his paper.

The presence followed him home, too. Even though Isaac was at a complete loss for what the feeling was, he was glad for it. He no longer felt alone when his father was in a bad mood.

One night, in spite of spending hours studying, Isaac received a failing grade on a chemistry test. He thought he was prepared, but the exam threw him a few curves and he couldn't handle it. Mr. Harris, the chemistry teacher, requested that Isaac have the test signed and brought back to him to receive some extra credit points that would help him pass the class. Why any teacher thought it was a good idea to give extra credit for humiliation was beyond Isaac, but he needed those points. He could endure his father one night if it meant passing high school chemistry.

As it turned out, his father was already in a bad mood because of some ignorant customers at the junkyard that day. Mr. Lahey hadn't been at his new job for very long and he already hated it. Granted, he hated every job he'd ever had since he lost his teaching position six years ago.

Isaac wasn't scheduled for grave digging duty that night, so he took his time making dinner. Throughout the entire cooking process, Isaac contemplated all the different ways in which he could bring up the failing test score to his father with minimal damage, but they were hardly five minutes into dinner before Isaac's father broke the ice for him.

"This dinner tastes better than usual. What did you do?" His voice was bitter and cold. He wasn't asking how Isaac cooked dinner, he was definitely implying that Isaac had done something to get into trouble. Isaac couldn't even accept the first portion as a compliment because his stomach had dropped to the floor in dread. Shit.

"I'm not working tonight. I wanted to cook something nice on my night off?" Isaac's words sounded so much more confident in his head. When he said them out loud, his voice shook.

Mr. Lahey glared hard at his son and shoved his plate of half-eaten food away from his spot at the table. Isaac resisted the urge to flinch. "Don't lie to me, boy. _What the hell did you do?_"

"Nothing!" Isaac protested. His stomach churned in uncomfortable knots. If he so much as took a bite out of anything, he would throw it back up. Fuck his life. "I just… need you to sign something. For school."

"Aren't you a little too old for permission slips, boy?" Mr. Lahey drawled lazily. For a moment, Isaac thought he was off the hook. His dad looked peeved, but calm. Mostly.

Isaac's eyed darted all around the room, taking care to look anywhere but at his father. It was now or nothing. Fail a test or fail the whole class? Why did he have to be stuck between a rock and a hard place? "It's not. I uh, have a test I need you to sign." There went nothing.

Mr. Lahey didn't bother to reaffirm anything else. He didn't ask any questions. Isaac knew his father already made a handful of assumptions and all of them were most likely correct. He nonchalantly wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it down on the table. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "Let's see this test, then."

What was going on? Isaac hadn't realized he was hunched over in his chair until he scooted his seat back to stand up. It was a reflex by now to just huddle himself into something smaller and harder to hit, but his father wasn't doing anything threatening other than glaring and existing.

He left quickly to retrieve his paper from his room, but when he walked in the door, he stopped abruptly. Everything was wrong. His desk, which had been neatly stacked with homework and other papers, was now in disarray and the papers were lying all about the room. The sheets on his bed were overturned, his cup of writing utensils spilled and pencils had rolled off his desk. It looks like a tornado hit the place and disappeared without ever having made a noise.

If Isaac's father ransacked his room, wouldn't he have heard it? It wasn't like he was listening to music as he cooked dinner, and it certainly wasn't as if his room was that far away—it was just down the hall. So what the hell?

Isaac couldn't spend too much time wondering what happened, because he knew just how impatient his father could be. He went to work quickly, rummaging through the tousled papers to find the one he needed. After a few seconds, he located it, but the paper blew forward as if by some unseen force. Instinctively, Isaac looked up to check and see if maybe he'd left the ceiling fan on, but it was as still as ever.

Confused, Isaac made another reach for the paper and it flew from his grasp a second time. After spending far too many precious seconds jumping around the room, trying to get a hold of his test, he finally let his hands fall to his sides. It was of no use. The world was against him. What had he done in a past life to deserve all of this?

He sat down on his bed and silently flipped off his stupid paper. He didn't understand anything—the weird feeling he had like someone was watching him, why someone went through his room, why he couldn't get a hold of this annoying paper, and why his dad wasn't beating him within an inch of his life.

Footsteps outside his room caused Isaac to stand up in a panic. He had taken too long. His father was checking up on him. Isaac needed to get that test and he needed to get it, now.

"Come on!" Isaac whispered hard at the paper. "Before my dad gets back!" As stupid as it was to shout at an inanimate object, Isaac didn't feel embarrassed at all—especially when said paper flew up and pressed itself against his chest as if it were flying with the wind. Isaac clutched the paper tightly in his grasp just as his father stood in the doorframe.

Mr. Lahey took a second to survey the damage before his eyes rested on his son in the middle of a trashed room holding a failed test.

His eyes were hot with anger and he grated his teeth together. Isaac flinched once again, expecting a hand or a shout or something. Instead, he got, "I think it's time we paid the basement a visit, tonight, don't you think?"

It was all Isaac could do not to let his legs give out. It was like every drop of blood left his body. This was so much worse than the shouting and the hitting. It had been a year since Isaac was last in the basement. He didn't think he was ever going back.

"I didn't do this!" Isaac waved his arms frantically around the room. "It was like this when I got here!" His argument sounded weak, even to him, and he knew he wasn't gaining any favor in his father's eyes.

This time his father reached out for him and grabbed onto his wrist tightly, twisting and yanking him hard until he stumbled forward. Mr. Lahey didn't say another word. He simply dragged his son down the hall to the basement door and shoved at him until he tripped over himself trying to get down the stairs.

By the time Isaac reached the bottom, his face was covered in tears. He hadn't meant to start crying—he didn't even know he had. His throat was hoarse from pleading and begging. It was like he was on autopilot. He didn't want to go back—not back down here. He hated it down in the basement. He had hoped most of what happened down here was in the past as a horrible, horrible nightmare, but here he was again, still trapped.

Minutes later, Isaac was half-forced, half-threatened into the freezer.

When he was younger, this was his father's favorite punishment. It was dark and cold, but there was room. Now that Isaac had hit a few growth spurts, he couldn't quite fit anymore. His neck cramped up and his knees seemed to fold in on themselves as his father slammed the lid down. He could see artificial light coming from the holes drilled into the top of the door but nothing else. The light wasn't even enough to illuminate his own hands.

He tried to wipe at the tear stains that itched on his cheeks, but he couldn't move. He couldn't pound on the lid anymore. He couldn't even try to stretch enough to force the lid upward.

All he could do was sit and cry and curse and wait until his father, or someone, anyone freed him.

His hands and feel began to tingle, and Isaac grew worried. His blood circulation was doing poorly and he knew that if he stayed in the freezer for much longer, he would have some serious health problems. Soon the tingling turned into something warm and slowly began to engulf him entirely.

It was a strange feeling. Even though it felt like the warmth of fleece, it was sad. If Isaac could be soothed in a melancholy way, then this was certainly it. The feeling covered him like a blanket and he felt almost… safe. Here he was, in the worst punishment his father could place him in, and he felt like he was being enveloped in a hug rather than a freezer.

It had an amazing effect on him. His heart rate slowed to a comfortable pace. He was able to squash his panic attack down to something a little more reasonable, and most of all, he could calm down enough to fall asleep and pretend he was anywhere other than where he was.

* * *

Leaving the cemetery was the single greatest decision of Scott's death.

He hadn't even realized he could do it. He figured he was stuck within the confines of the graveyard fence, mostly because he'd never actually seen one of the Dead leave and come back.

The idea was planted into his head by a pretty ghost with blonde hair named Erica that haunted a headstone a few rows behind Scott. She arrived some time after Scott died and spent most of her afterlife scaring the children that came into the graveyard, or playing tricks on teenagers who trespassed on dares.

"Scotty," she addressed him one day while hovering a few feet over the ground. She was lying on her back with her hands behind her head and looked positively bored with herself. Scott didn't blame her. Most of the afterlife was boring. "Have you ever been outside the fence?"

"No," Scott replied shortly. He was busy trying to manipulate the dewdrops on the morning grass. The more he practiced, the better he became. "Never tried."

"I wonder what it's like out there," she said wistfully.

"You don't remember?" It was a dumb question. No one remembered. It was still nice to ask, though, because one never really knew.

"Not really, but I think it was cruel," Erica's voice turned bitter, fast. "When I try to remember my life before this, my entire body just becomes a ball of anger and shame. I want to go out there one day, when I'm stronger, and just give everyone a big fucking scare like they all deserve. I want to watch them scream."

Scott looked at her quickly. He stopped working on the dew drops and moved across the air to be closer to her. "What brought this on?" Erica was a vengeful spirit, but not this vengeful.

"I found out how I died, today," Erica spat. She popped away from her lying position and reappeared at her headstone a few feet away, staring down at the lack of flowers on her grave.

Scott willed himself to stand next to her, trying to keep his eyes focused on the words carved at her grave marker:

Erica Reyes  
1995-2011

She was 16, too, but he knew that much already. Scott stole a glance at her face and she looked so sad and faraway. "How did you find out?" he asked.

"My Aunt came by," Erica said, still staring at her name. "I recognized her. She and my mother have been fighting for a long time and she just found out. She said she came as soon as she heard. I've been dead for months, Scott. Months. And she just _now_ found out?"

Scott shrugged because he didn't know what to say. "Well, if she and your mom were fighting…"

Erica waved at him, cutting him off. "Seizures," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"That's how I died. I had a seizure. I had a lot of them apparently. My Aunt wanted me to get treatment, but my mom thought I would get better. She wanted to check up on me, but found out I was six feet under instead, and now she blames herself," Erica let out a weak bit of laughter. "Here I thought I died in some awesome way and instead I just had epilepsy. Way to rain on my parade."

"I'm sorry," Scott said, wishing he could reach out and put an arm around her. It seemed not even the Dead could touch the Dead. They were completely alone.

"The worst part is that I can remember it, now," Erica continued. "I remember kids laughing at me in class. I remember the hospital lights. I remember hating everyone."

"It explains a lot," Scott said nonchalantly. He hadn't meant for it to sound rude, and was thankful that Erica didn't take it as such.

"It makes sense. I really want to go out there and scare the piss out of everyone who laughed. They deserve it. All of them."

"Do you think that's your Reason?" Scott raised an eyebrow questioningly. If Erica's reason to be a ghost was to haunt everyone who had been mean to her, then she would be here forever. Vengeful spirits, it seemed, were the worst.  
"Who knows," Erica said. "It's worth a shot."

Scott was silent for a while before he finally spoke up, "Do you blame your Aunt for your death?"

"No," Erica sighed sadly, like she was deflating. "I blame everyone else."

"Maybe you should find a way to let her know that."

The next time Scott remembered seeing the sun, Erica was gone.

He didn't see her for a very long time. He naturally assumed she was never going to come back. Either she preferred it outside of the graveyard or she had moved on. Either way, Scott was ready to venture far from his headstone. He didn't need the gates to keep him in anymore.

And besides, when Isaac wasn't at the graveyard, time moved far too slowly, and Scott missed him. So he attached himself to Isaac's side and followed him home one day.

He wasn't satisfied with just being with Isaac at home. He wanted to be with him all the time—at school, sleeping, anywhere. He discovered firsthand the cruelty Isaac's father bestowed upon his son. All Scott could do was be there for Isaac and stay by his side. He tried to wrap his arms around the curly haired teen and send as much spirit energy as he could to give the taller boy strength and courage. Scott had no idea what kind of effect he was having, just that something was going on.

He swore that Isaac could see him. A few times, Scott found him looking straight at him. If Scott called out, though, Isaac still wouldn't answer. It was frustrating.

Scott became so wrapped up in following Isaac around that he didn't notice that what he was doing was harmful. Isaac ended up becoming so distracted by Scott's presence during a test that he failed. Scott became so ashamed of what he did that he tried to hide the test in Isaac's room. When Isaac came in looking for it, Scott did his best to keep it from him—only to find out that the act got Isaac into deeper trouble with his father.

It was all Scott's fault that Isaac was locked in that freezer. Scott hated himself for it. All he wanted was to learn more about the sad boy that dug graves in the cemetery. He hadn't wished for this. Scott's influence was ruining the life of the one person in the world Scott found interesting.

He made a promise to himself that night. He was going to stay by Isaac's side until morning. He wasn't going to abandon him. He was going to do everything ghostly possible to fix things. No one deserved to have this kind of life, least of all Isaac.

And so Scott curled his body around Isaac's cramped form in that lonely freezer. He was thankful for once, for his non corporeal form. It allowed him to share the small space and more readily press his good intentions into Isaac's soul. He imagined himself as a soft light in the middle of the darkness—a light so bright it would leave no room for shadows.

* * *

As Isaac drifted off into a hazy slumber, Scott couldn't help wondering why he was so impacted by a stranger like this. What was it about Isaac that made Scott's entire afterlife revolve around him? Why did Scott even do any of this? Surely he was here to do something to help his mother or Stiles—so why was he here with Isaac?

And why did his entire being ache?

Over the next few days, Isaac's life became even stranger. He thought he would have nightmares after what his father did to him, but they never came. He walked around with a sense of peace. He didn't even feel alone, which was the weirdest part about the whole situation. Isaac, if anything, was more alone than ever. He worked alone, he had no friends, and he avoided his father at all costs.

Nothing his father did seemed to have any effect on him. Several times Mr. Lahey would move to strike Isaac with an object and it would mysteriously fling itself across the room instead, missing Isaac's body completely.

Much of what Mr. Lahey did do his son was to instill fear, but the fear just wasn't there anymore. After Isaac survived unscathed from the freezer, it was as if everything else his father did had no meaning. His test was never signed. He never received that extra credit. But he did find something else: a sense of self worth. He had absolutely no idea where it even came from.

Isaac was no idiot. He could see the signs all around him, and whether or not he really chose to believe was beyond him. Ever since he got that job at the graveyard, his life began to change and not in the way he thought. He pictured the world as black and white. He assumed the supernatural was reserved for stories and television.

And yet, he had to acknowledge just what it was that was happening to him.

It wasn't scary. Most shows or movies always portrayed the unknown as something to be frightened of, but Isaac didn't feel like that. When he felt a presence in his room at night, he didn't find it malevolent. He found it comforting. The same presence made him feel like he wasn't eating lunch alone at school… and he swore it helped him with the dishes.

The bottom line was, if Isaac was being haunted, it was with some Casper level of ghost and he couldn't argue with that.

One night at work, as Isaac fiddled with the gears at the control panel, he felt that familiar tug on the back of his neck and stopped his work. He froze in place and allowed his eyes to close. This was a common occurrence at work. It was mid November and the weather was heading into consistently colder territory. Whatever it was that was following Isaac would raise or lower the temperature within a given space and usually kept the cabin fairly warm. It was odd—because Isaac always though ghosts were cold, but he was no expert.

Isaac never spoke out loud to it before. Despite being essentially alone, he still felt weird about talking to thin air. Tonight was different. He'd been steadily gaining confidence over the last few days—ever since the presence really made itself known. And now, Isaac was ready to speak.

"Thank you," he said to the air around him. He felt a little foolish at first, but then the warmth disappeared from inside the cabin of the front loader, and his foolish feeling dissipated instantly. That could not have been a coincidence.

He felt alone, like maybe he'd scared it off. The thought itself was sobering. It was like hearing a teacher explain how a spider was more scared of him than he was of it.

Reluctantly, Isaac took the engine off idle and began his work. He had two graves to dig tonight: one for an elderly woman and the other for some guy in his twenties who probably overdosed, even though no one would really say. Working through the ground took a lot longer than most people realized so he needed to start his shift right away.

The second the backhoe bucket connected with the dirt, the windshield in front of Isaac fogged over and Isaac had to scramble to keep himself from pivoting into any headstones. He cursed as his hands flailed over the controls and stared wide-eyed at the scene before him.

It was like he was living out a scene from Psycho, minus the shower and the serial killer. The only real similarity was the writing on the foggy glass. Isaac watched in fascination as the presence simply spelled out:

SORRY

Isaac could have laughed right at the windshield. Seriously? "Why are you sorry? Is it because you fogged up my windshield? For haunting me?" The minute Isaac said it, his brain immediately moved into dangerous territory. Maybe the spirit was sorry for something it was going to do in the future. Isaac didn't like that prospect at all. For the first time, he thought he felt the prickle of fear creep through him.

Whatever it was didn't respond. Isaac didn't really expect it to, but he didn't want it to leave just yet. This confirmed everything. This was important. He took a deep breath and tried again. "What's your name?"

This time, the word came instantly, like maybe the spirit had been waiting for it.

SCOTT

Isaac stared at the name. It was such an ordinary name. A modern name. He was half expecting to be haunted by some outlandish old spirit with a pseudonym. Scott was just so… normal. Normal, but familiar. Isaac felt as though he'd known a Scott once, but the memory was something he hadn't wanted to keep and so it was hard for him to bring it up.

Instead he gave a little wave, as awkward as it felt. "I'm Isaac."

He gave a little laugh and it escaped him like a puff of air. The temperature was back to being cold and he could see his breath. When he looked back at the windshield again, Scott had drawn something and it made Isaac actually, genuinely laugh out loud.

In fact, he laughed so hard his insides hurt, and he held his side as if that would help. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed. Had he ever laughed in his life?

There, on the windshield, was a smiley face.

Isaac wasn't being haunted by just any ghost. He was being haunted by a kid.

While Isaac laughed, the air became warmer. It was like the ghost had turned into his own personal de-fogger. Soon Isaac could see the boom and dipper of the arm through the windshield as clear as any night. He geared himself back up to begin work again, but this time he was in a fantastic mood.

He knew he was supposed to run screaming from the front loader, because that's what the world told him to do, but that felt silly and wrong. Isaac wasn't in any danger. Any ghost that drew a smiley face on a windshield and was named Scott had to be harmless.

Isaac began his work, pushing the levers down to let the bucket sink into the graveyard soil and remove the dirt, one bucketful at a time. As soon as he pivoted the massive backhoe to the right a couple degrees to drop his armful of dirt, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

A teenage boy was standing right where he was supposed to dump the excess dirt. He had on jeans and a grey t-shirt with a black jacket draped loosely over his shoulders. His hair was cut short and he had his hands deep in his pockets as he smiled hopelessly up at Isaac. His smile was so doofy, it was adorable. He had a hint of teeth that poked out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes crinkled up at the edges.

Isaac reacted immediately. Before he could even think about why the hell someone was standing in the middle of the graveyard at night, he stood up and leaned out of the cabin, waving his arms.

"Hey, get out of the way before you get hurt!" he called out, frantically. The look on the boy's face changed drastically from his happy smile to one of complete surprise as he looked around and pointed to himself. Isaac rolled his eyes. "Yes, you! You're trespassing on private property and a construction site." He really didn't want to rattle off the spiel he was required to say to anyone caught around the backhoe while it was in motion.

The teenage boy only gaped at him for a second and finally said, "You can see me?"

His voice was oddly soft and faraway. Isaac wasn't entirely sure he could hear it. It felt like maybe he was whispering, but the tone of his voice indicated otherwise. Isaac raised his eyebrows to indicate that yes, he could see him, what the hell was he talking about, but he couldn't say anything because at that moment, the spotlight from the top of the backhoe burned out with a fizzling pop.

The air around him shifted drastically into an icy chill and when Isaac turned back toward the teenager, he was gone.

He looked everywhere. He climbed from the cabin and walked around the backhoe just to be sure. There was no sign that anyone but him had been here.

He was completely alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Time had no meaning for Scott. He wasn't growing older. He wasn't aging. There was no where he needed to be. He had no use for sleeping. Clocks were nothing but numbers and hands. Seconds could last for hours and days could disappear in a matter of minutes. Judging the time by the sun had no effect, because Scott couldn't remember how many times he'd seen the bright light travel across the sky. One moment, it would be setting, and then it would be noon and he would have no recollection of how he'd arrived from one point to the other.

Certain emotions set him off. One morning his mother came by with a candle and explained that it was his birthday. The sadness in her eyes caused him so much pain he clenched his jaw, scrunched up his face and just willed the world to go on without him. When he opened his eyes again, the candle was nothing more than a lump of wax on his headstone, his mother gone.

That night in the graveyard with Isaac was no different.

Scott, startled over Isaac's revelation, accidentally extrapolated himself from the Living world. He hadn't meant to. The shock was enormous. No one had ever seen him since he died—no one Living anyway. He didn't know what to do or think or say. How was he supposed to react to that? It wasn't like he could just pretend to be alive. That was impossible.

And besides, what was all that about anyway? Isaac could not only see him, but he _heard_ him as well. The two of them even had a conversation of sorts. Scott knew he felt a strong pull toward Isaac, but he had no idea it was _that_ strong. He had wanted Isaac to see him so desperately—could that have triggered some kind of apparition effect? How long could he remain visible? Could anyone else see him?

It was a hard theory to test because the moment Scott came back to his senses, the sun was up and he was alone in the graveyard.

Just how much time had gone by?

He used to follow Isaac at every given chance, but he hadn't expected to blank out like he did. He had no idea where to start. The school? Home? Should he wait for him to come back?

For someone who had eternity, Scott was incredibly impatient.

He left the comfort and familiarity of the graveyard partly to look for Isaac but mostly to wander around and clear his head. No one noticed him. He moved right through buildings and cars and people as if he weren't there at all. No temperature changes, no strange pulls on his form as if he were liquid—no nothing. It was like he existed on another plane entirely. He gave up the semblance of walking long ago because his feet couldn't touch the earth. He simply floated above the surface, trying to figure out where and when he was.

Maybe only a day had passed. Maybe he accidentally zapped himself to the next morning. With that in mind, Scott meandered over to Beacon Hills High School, trying to locate Isaac.

He hated the school. Sitting through classes with Isaac was one thing, but visiting by himself was something else entirely. Scott had a feeling he really didn't like this place, even when he was one of the Living.

Sure, it was no secret that most teenagers hated school. Scott heard numerous students vocalize their complaints about classes while he shadowed Isaac. Isaac seemed to actually enjoy the place, but probably because his father wasn't involved. It was different for Scott. His entire being rejected the school. It made him feel sluggish and dreadful.

All he wanted was to find Isaac and be done with it.

But Isaac was not at school that day.

Scott tried everywhere: Chemistry, History, Physical Education, English… every class he ever remembered following Isaac. He was nowhere. Could he have skipped class? Was he alright? Panic washed over Scott as he frantically pressed through the brick outer walls of the school. Sunlight beat down on him, but he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything but Isaac's absence.

The next move meant going to Isaac's house. On the one hand, Scott really hoped Isaac wouldn't be there. Nothing good could come out of the fact that he might be in that house with that man. And yet on the other hand, where could he go if he wasn't at home?

When Scott arrived, however, the driveway remained free of any vehicles. There was no sign anywhere that Isaac or his father were even home. Half-eaten food littered the table which Scott found odd. In his experience, Isaac always cleaned up after breakfast. Something was wrong.

A horrible idea struck Scott and he allowed himself to drop through the floorboards to the basement. When he saw that the freezer door was wide open and no fresh claw marks adorned the lid, he knew that at least Isaac was safe from that punishment and relief overcame him. It still didn't answer any questions; it only brought up new queries.

Scott forced himself to keep pushing forward. He was so relieved to find that Isaac wasn't locked up that he wanted to dwell on that for a while, but he knew he couldn't. If Isaac was in danger elsewhere, then Scott really needed to locate him and fast. He had no idea what he would do once he reached him, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Lost, Scott found himself wandering throughout the town of Beacon Hills. Isaac really only went to a couple of places and Scott checked through all of them. Where else could he possibly be?

Worry was now coursing through Scott's system like a poison. He couldn't release tension in the way a Living person could. He couldn't sweat or raise his heartbeat or tremble. The overwhelming feelings only festered inside of him and caused the air around him to cool. Windows fogged as he flew past, icing over with thick patterns of crystals.

In the late fall air, most people assumed it was the chilling cut of the wind that passed over them and tucked their scarves in tighter or hugged their coats closer to their chests. No one felt his pain.

Scott needed comfort. Fast. He couldn't stand being alone any longer. He couldn't properly connect with anyone at the graveyard because he could never tell if the Dead were staying or not. He could have reached out to Stiles, but by the time he realized he could leave his headstone, Stiles was gone. He'd grown up over the years and Scott wouldn't be surprised if he'd skipped town.

The only place left to turn was the hospital—the place where he knew his mother worked. She'd come by after work a few times wearing her scrubs and he caught a glimpse of her lanyard with the logo for the Beacon Hills Medical Center plastered all over it.

Finding the hospital wasn't hard at all. The amount of death that happened in a place like that created a large number of ghosts. In fact, there were more Dead walking the halls of the hospital than there were in three graveyards combined. All Scott had to do was follow the trail of the Dead.

The spirits who had yet to realize they'd passed away were the worst. They looked as they had when they first died—with flesh wounds and broken bones and clothing covered in blood. They harassed the hospital staff and shouted orders to deaf ears. Scott hated looking at them. He couldn't stand the sunken, sallow eyes and bruised faces. He couldn't stand the screaming, crying and bellowing of commands that would never be heard.

He knew better than to make eye contact with them. Once, at the cemetery, he had stared at the burned ghost of a young woman for so long that she confused him with the Living. She all but jumped on his case, asking for help and whether or not he could talk to her family.

There was no way he could help. He wanted to, but he didn't know how. Rather than beat himself up about it, he shied away from spirits like that. It was for the best. Even now that he'd made contact with one of the Living. It was only for a second and Scott had no idea if and when it would ever happen again.

After wandering the uniformed hospital corridors, Scott came upon the main nurse's station. His eyes lit up for a second when he recognized his mother, pouring over documents and spreadsheets on a computer screen. He watched her in silence for a while as hurried doctors and patients buzzed through his body. She bit her bottom lip in concentration and typed a few things into the keyboard, her eyes still glued to the screen.

He couldn't get over how beautiful his mom looked. He could tell from the bags under her eyes just how tired and stressed she had become over the years, but now that he was looking at her in her element and not just standing over his grave, a rush of emotion overcame him.

He remembered her.

He remembered how she used to yell at him after curfew. She never fell for the bunched-up-covers trick he resorted to when he and Stiles went on midnight adventures. He remembered her cooking, her bedtime stories, and her laughter when they watched primetime sitcoms during her off-nights. He remembered the good and the bad and they came to him in flashes. Just him and his mother. Suddenly he understood why she came to visit him so much. With Scott gone, she had no one.

He longed to reach out and touch her. If he could get Isaac to see him, why couldn't he get his mother to see him, too? He had no idea what to say to her. Maybe hello. Maybe goodbye.

Suddenly she glanced upward, her brown eyes shining brightly. Scott never saw her smile like that at the graveyard. He did a double take. She was smiling directly at him. His jaw dropped and he opened his mouth to say something but there was a voice just behind him that spoke first.

"That all of the paperwork on the Lahey case?"

Scott backed up a little bit and turned around. He found himself face to face with a tall, very well-built man with tired eyes. He knew him. That man was at his funeral. Scott almost didn't recognize him because instead of a nicely tailored suit he now wore a Sheriff's jacket.

Scott's mother leaned over to pick up a stack of papers she'd just printed. "This should be everything. Do you think there's a solid case this time? This isn't the first time he's been in here for this sort of thing…"

The Sheriff shook his head sadly, "These are only symptoms. We can't do anything until there's an actual accusation or admission, and the boy is still refusing to speak."

"Poor kid. What is he afraid of?"

"Too much to tell," the Sheriff reached a hand out to take the papers from Scott's mother. Scott watched the interaction with great interest. Could they be talking about Isaac? Was Isaac here? "I'll file these away for a court case I know can't be too far away, now."

"I understand," Scott's mother nodded. She hesitated going back to her computer and lingered for a few seconds, as though she wanted to keep the conversation with the Sheriff going. "Do you need to talk to him? He's in room 318."

"I've just seen him. He's sleeping," the Sherriff answered. "I'll let him rest and come back later."

Scott twisted his head around to make sure he heard that right. He couldn't remember if he'd ever learned Isaac's last name, but Lahey jogged such a large part of his mind that he couldn't just chalk it up to chance. He didn't bother listening to the rest of what his mother and the Sheriff were saying and rushed down the corridors, trying to locate room number 318.

The door was partially closed, but Scott didn't let that bother him. He moved into the room with ease only to find that his suspicions had been correct.

Isaac slept on the hospital bed before him, but he didn't look peaceful at all. He looked uncomfortable and his face had distorted itself into an expression of anguish. A thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead. Scott couldn't help himself as he pressed forward, inching closer and holding out a hand to pass it over Isaac's arm.

Now that he could really study him, there were some definite changes from the night Scott wrote on his windshield in the cemetery. Isaac now sported a black eye and a busted lip. There was bruising around his neck and shoulders and he had a cut across his cheek that required a few stitches.

"What happened to you?" Scott asked the sleeping form in front of him. He swept his hands over the cuts and bruises, hoping he was easing some of the pain. It felt better than simply watching and waiting.

Slowly, Isaac's expression evened out and the muscles in his face visibly relaxed. Scott smiled in spite of himself and let out a puff of relieved laughter. He took that as a sign that Isaac could feel him. Scott had comforted him so many times by now that surely Isaac could recognize it when he felt it, right?

As if on cue, Isaac's eyelashes fluttered open and he blinked a few times, trying to adjust himself to the light of the room. His eyes only stayed open for a few seconds before he closed them again with a heavy sigh. He turned his head to the side and coughed a little bit, which caused him to moan afterward.

Scott froze. Was he awake? Was he okay?

"I know you're there," Isaac whispered.

Startled, Scott pulled his hand away and took a step back, only for him it was more like blinking backward to the farthest corner of the room.

He watched in awe as Isaac scrunched his eyes again and reached a hand up to rub the tiredness away. Scott noticed that his hand was attached to an IV drip and it triggered another memory.

He remembered an IV drip just like that one, only from another angle. His hand and arm tingled with the cold feeling as if the fluids were just now traveling up his arm.

He forced himself to stay in the present. A trip to the past might trigger another time lapse and Scott only just now found Isaac. He couldn't do that again.

When Isaac removed his hand from his eyes, they focused around the room until they came to rest on Scott. He could tell, just by the subtle upturn of Isaac's mouth that he could see him. Scott couldn't help but to shove his memories aside and smile back. The action calmed him somehow.

Isaac coughed again, but this time his voice was a bit stronger. "There you are."

Scott made a noise that was part laughter, part sob.

In an instant, Scott was by Isaac's side. The upside to not having a corporeal form was that he didn't have to weave his way around any awkward tray tables or IV stands. All he had to do was stand at Isaac's bedside, despite whatever hospital equipment cut through him.

"You _can_ see me," Scott said again, choking on his own words.

Isaac's smile hadn't left his face. He looked tired, but he clearly didn't care about the fatigue. "Are you an angel?" he asked eventually.

Scott couldn't suppress his laughter even though he wanted to. He let it ring out loud and clear. He wondered if anyone but Isaac could hear it. "Are you serious? Of all the questions you could ask, that's the one you chose?"

Isaac attempted to shrug, but it caused him to wince. "Just thought I'd ask. I've never seen a… whatever you are."

"I'm a ghost," Scott clarified. "You know, haunting, rattling chains and all that. I'm dead. I'm pretty sure normal people can't stand here with a tray table coming out of their stomach."

Isaac laughed at that and then groaned. "Don't make me laugh, it hurts too much."

"I don't know if I'm sorry or not sorry about that," Scott said. His brow furrowed suddenly and then he just had to ask. "So this isn't weird for you? You're not going to freak out?" Because it was weird as hell for him.

"I already did," Isaac said as he fiddled with the end of his IV needle. He kept touching his fingers and squeezing his hand like the sensation was strange to him. Scott regretted not being able to reach out and warm his fingers with his own. "But that was a week ago. I've had time to adjust. No Scooby Doo ghost stuttering for me."

"What?" Scott did a double take.

"You've never heard of Scooby Doo?" He said the words so casually, Scott's jaw nearly dropped. Here he thought he would have to go through a lot of explaining and coaxing but Isaac already seemed to have everything figured out. Instead of talking about anything major, he wanted to talk about pop culture references. This was not the conversation Scott had planned when he found out he could be seen and heard.

"I've heard of Scooby Doo," Scott lied. It sounded familiar, but it was also something that had to do with his life before he died and those memories were very limited. "But what did you say before? A week?"

Isaac nodded slowly, finally leaving his IV alone. "I saw you a week ago in the cemetery. You disappeared, but I looked into you. You're Scott McCall, aren't you?"

Scott swallowed hard. It was the first time anyone had said his last name in a long time. "How did you know my last name?"

"There aren't a lot of graves with the name 'Scott' on the headstone that belong to a teenage boy," Isaac said simply.

Scott steeled himself. "And your name is Isaac Lahey," he said shortly. "My mother is your nurse."

"Is she?" Isaac's eyes widened and he made a reach for the nurse call button on his bed. In a fit of surprise panic, Scott dove forward to try and bat Isaac's hand out of the way but nothing happened.

"Don't call her in here," pleaded Scott frantically.

"You don't want to tell her anything? I could relay the message," said Isaac. He looked genuinely confused.

Scott's face fell. "Do you think she will believe you? They'll lock you up, Isaac. I don't want them to do that." As soon as he said the words he regretted it. Isaac's face darkened quickly and Scott recoiled.

"I know you've been around for a long time," Isaac said slowly. Scott tried to dip his head to better catch Isaac's facial expressions, but he kept them well-hidden. "I'm starting to think that maybe if they take me away, it's better than what I have now."

"But you can get out of there!" Scott pointed out, remembering his mother's conversation at the nurse's station. "The Sheriff is gathering evidence against your dad. He can get you out."

"Why, so my dad can just find me? Or find a way to cheat the system?"

"He locked you in a freezer, Isaac. I've seen firsthand what he's done to you. I can't just spend my entire afterlife watching you get hurt!"

"Why not?" Isaac shot a glare at Scott so hard that Scott blinked backward to the foot of the bed, a shocked expression forming across his face. "Why me?"

Scott's mouth bobbed open and shut for a minute as he contemplated that. He knew, but he also didn't know. He hadn't quite asked himself why he found Isaac so interesting—just that he did. In the end, he let his features soften in defeat and he gave Isaac an honest answer. "Because you're interesting. And you're familiar. I feel like I've met you before."

"That's impossible," Isaac spat. "I was ten when you died."

Scott didn't know what to say. He had hoped his first real conversation with Isaac would be so much more than just this. What did he want to happen? He really didn't even know himself, and that's what made him so confused.

So Scott decided he was going to put all the cards on the table. Isaac could pick and choose his own fate. Scott wouldn't butt in anymore if Isaac didn't want him around. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Isaac was silent for a long time. He was quiet for so long that Scott eventually began to worry. He'd already faced the part of time when hours blinked by in seconds, but now those seconds were slowing down and taking forever to pass.

"I've never heard of anyone who was voluntarily haunted by a ghost," Isaac said at length.

Scott looked up at him, his eyes hopeful. It wasn't a definite answer. He wanted to assume the worst, because at least then he wouldn't be disappointed. "I never knew ghosts existed until I became one," he murmured.

That seemed to be the right thing to say because Isaac closed his eyes and rested his head further into the pillow, his breath coming out with a shuddering sigh. "Stay," he said, "I feel better when you're around."

Scott took his spot at the head of Isaac's bed again, not bothering to hide the beaming look on his face. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

There wasn't a word for what they were. Scott wanted to say that they were friends, but the connection he had with Isaac felt like it was a step beyond friendship. Beyond brothers, even.

"Hey," Isaac said, his voice beginning to lag as he grew tired once more. "Can you put your hands on my head, again? It feels nice."

Something warm bubbled up inside Scott. He grew so excited, the lights dimmed for a second, but none of the hospital equipment was affected enough for the nurses to rush inside. Scott wondered if they even noticed the power surge. It was a hospital. They noticed everything. He had a feeling his actual time alone with Isaac was down to the minutes before a nurse came by to at least check the equipment and Isaac's vitals.

Time was kind in that moment. It slowed enough for Scott to hover over Isaac's tired form. He floated over him lengthwise, his toes disappearing into the thin fabric of the hospital sheets. His palms rested lightly on Isaac's cheeks, cooling the surface of his skin. Scott delighted watching all the worry drain away from Isaac's face. Even though Isaac had the upper portion of the bed mostly reclined, when his shoulders slumped, it was still visible.

Ghostlike fingertips grazed over the skin on Isaac's neck and shoulders, taking extra care to soothe the bruises and fingertip impressions. The marks would not leave the skin, but at least the pain receded, and for that Scott was grateful on Isaac's account.

By the time Scott glanced back up at Isaac's face one more time, his eyes still hadn't opened, but his breathing was even. It was safe to say he had drifted off into sleep.

Scott watched him for a long time. He didn't leave when a nurse came to check on him. He vowed to stay until Isaac woke again. He wasn't going anywhere.

Yes, Scott was attached in more ways than one. Isaac was stuck with him.

* * *

Being haunted by a ghost was nothing like the movies.

The whole concept of chills running up and down Isaac's spine was ridiculous. Isaac wasn't afraid to go anywhere alone and he certainly wasn't afraid of the dark.

Why were people even afraid of them in the first place? Scott couldn't touch him, which to Isaac was actually a relief. He never wanted anyone to touch him which was why he hunched his shoulders and tried to make himself as small as possible. He felt as though he could have a normal relationship with Scott without the messy hassle of actual human contact.

Scott was the best thing to ever happen to him.

Suddenly Isaac had someone to talk to whenever he wanted. Scott wasn't always there. He would disappear at random times; there didn't seem to be a pattern. But whenever Isaac said his name out loud, all he had to do was wait for a light burst of wind to tousle his curls and Scott would be there, smiling and attentive.

Isaac was glad to be discharged from the hospital. As much fun as it was to have Scott all to himself in a semi-private room, the constant fear of having a nurse walk in on him talking to a ghost nagged at him. The staff worried enough about him as it was (he could tell by the constant doting and the insistence to call him 'dear'); he didn't want to add being crazy to that list.

He knew he wasn't losing his sanity. When Scott first appeared to him in the graveyard, Isaac went through every possible scenario in his mind and decided that he hadn't imagined seeing him. The memory was too vivid, and he had months of grave-digging memories to file away to bring up whenever a moment of doubt popped up—and there were plenty—at least in the first week when Scott wasn't around.

But he was here, now, and that's what really mattered. Isaac hadn't gone insane. The ghost of Scott McCall existed and was really, really fantastically amazing at soothing cuts and burns. Isaac didn't just use Scott as a portable bottle of pain killers, though. He was quickly turning into his best friend.

Gone were the days of Isaac walking to school with his hands deep in his pockets and his head pointed downward to glare at the sidewalk. He still bowed his head, but mostly to keep the fact that he was talking to someone invisible to everyone but him a secret.

As it turned out, Scott was really funny.

Isaac always figured ghosts had some kind of evil vendetta. After all, didn't they usually try to kill people for living in their houses? Didn't they generally wander the woods at night and hang dolls from trees? Every horror movie Isaac had ever seen essentially lied to him because Scott displayed none of these characteristics.

Scott made fart jokes and hopped around on gravestones while Isaac went about his gravedigging duties. He worried about his mom or asked Isaac thousands of really obscure questions like what Skittles tasted like or how it felt to get stung by a bee.

Throughout their friendship, Isaac caught Scott just staring at him for long periods of time. Isaac would look up from schoolwork or from operating the backhoe to find Scott gazing at him with his chin in his hands. Isaac would laugh and give him a small wave to bring him back to the present and Scott would just chuckle and flicker out for a few seconds. Isaac didn't really mind. He liked the attention.

Nights at the graveyard became something else entirely. In such a short time, Isaac went from a brooding teenager with a permanent scowl to a bright and laughing young man. Worry lines changed to laugh lines and even the bags under his eyes began to disappear as sleep came easier.

It could have been because he was so used to seeing Scott, but Isaac swore Scott became clearer over time. When he first came into contact with the ghost, Scott seemed almost transparent. He was there, but not there, and if he grew distracted enough, he would blink himself in and out of existence purely by accident.

There was a definite learning curve, but Isaac was pleased to find that Scott quickly acclimated to his newfound strength. Isaac could hear him so much better and he no longer strained to catch every word.

In fact, Scott often found new ways to test his abilities. One night Isaac got off work early so he and Scott took a walk out to the Beacon Hills Preserve. The moon was out and full and despite the dim light, Isaac could see Scott as clear as if he were alive and well.

Even though Isaac had on a warm winter coat in the chill fall air, he kept his hands jammed deep into his pockets for warmth as he trudged through the underbrush. Scott swirled around trees and in circles around Isaac as he walked, talking non-stop.

"I've been practicing while you're sleeping, or when you're at school," said Scott, his voice whipping through the bare trees and dancing on the wind. "I want you to see. It's so cool."

Isaac's eyes couldn't keep up with the waves of Scott that surrounded him, but he didn't mind. He liked the idea of feeling enveloped by the ghost. Scott had such a beautiful presence that Isaac had come to depend on him like a comfort blanket. Scott understood his pain. He talked him through any doubts and fears he had on anything. Isaac couldn't imagine an existence without Scott's laughter or innocent curiosity.

And now, as Scott danced around him in the moonlight, Isaac realized just how much he'd let the spirit invade his life in a good way. Just last winter, if anyone had told Isaac that he would be walking about in the woods by himself on the night of a full moon, he would have shied away quickly and made a mental note to steer clear from that person. In truth, Isaac wasn't really alone, but anyone else would have seen him as such.

"What have you been practicing, exactly?" Isaac grinned in spite of the cold. He didn't really feel it. The wind wasn't cutting through the trees as well as it could have.

"Just watch. We're almost there," Scott's voice sang overhead.

The bits and pieces that belonged to Scott's spirit disappeared briefly from sight and reappeared a couple of yards ahead in a clearing. Scott's form glowed an eerie shade of light blue as he stood there smiling as though he were waiting at the airport for a long-lost relative to get off the plane.

When Isaac entered the clearing, a strange sense washed over him. It felt warm at first, but then quickly turned cold, but not in a bad way. It felt pleasant—as if he'd stepped into a heavily air-conditioned room after an intense work-out. He exchanged an expression with Scott. "What is this?"

"I don't know," Scott shrugged, "But you can feel it, right? The full moon? It's less intense tonight because it's the night after a true full moon, but you can still feel it. This is where I practice."

"Practice what?"

"This," Scott said softly. He held out a hand, fingers splayed outward. Slowly, dead leaves picked themselves up from the ground and hovered a bit in a perfect circle around Scott. Right when Isaac thought they would drop back to a resting spot, they began to spiral around Scott's form in intricate patterns. It reminded Isaac of an organized tornado.

"How are you doing that?" Isaac asked, taking a cautious step toward the ghost. He'd seen Scott perform a number of strange tricks before, but nothing this complex. Once he tried to tie Isaac's bootlaces, but only ended up making the ends of them dance around. Aside from temperature control and writing on windows, he could do little else.

"Energy or something?" Scott shrugged. Talking caused him to lose his focus and a few of the leaves fell out of the circle and fluttered to the ground. Scott screwed up his eyebrows in concentration.

Isaac took a tentative step forward and reached a shaking hand to intercept a few of the leaves as they flew past. They weren't going any faster than what the wind could do on a typical day, but Isaac was still impressed. Excited, he pressed him palm outward. "Can you touch me, yet?"

A strange look overcame Scott's face and all the leaves immediately stopped flying. The hand that was stretched out in front of him balled itself into a fist. "No," he said, sounding a little unsure.

"I want to try," Isaac pressed. He really did. As much as he enjoyed the lack of contact with Scott, he also felt as though maybe they were okay to do something. There was absolutely nothing Scott could do to harm him. He was nothing like his father. Scott, if anything, was more like a constant companion to him, like his very own Jimminy Cricket. If he couldn't trust Scott to touch him, he couldn't trust anyone.

Scott's fingers twitched at his side. "What if my hand just goes through again?"

Isaac shrugged. "Then it goes through. It's cold outside and my hand is freezing. You can always warm it up as an alternative solution, okay?"

He hadn't meant the suggestion to sound like he wanted to hold hands with Scott. That was just preposterous. All he wanted to do was to reach out and touch his friend. His best friend. His only friend. And yet the words stuck with him as soon as he said them and he fought back the urge to yank his own hand back.

"Okay…" Scott gave in, holding his hand out once more.

With the moon giving the clearing as much light as the clouds would allow, Isaac patiently waited for Scott to close his eyes and focus his energy. He watched as Scott's brows furrowed and how he seemed to take a deep breath even though he really shouldn't feel the need to breathe anymore.

In that moment, Isaac saw for the first time just how beautiful Scott really was.

He was a gift. He showed up seemingly out of nowhere and stuck by Isaac for no reason that Isaac could fathom. Scott brightened the world and brought a warmth to it that Isaac had no idea could exist. All they had was a few days of laughter and conversation.

Isaac knew very little about Scott, just that his mother worked at the hospital and that he had a best friend that he must have loved like a brother. Scott knew very little about his own life, but he knew almost everything about Isaac's. Isaac didn't think it was very fair, especially since he felt as though he should know something more about Scott. There was a memory in his mind, hidden from him.

He wanted to know. He wanted to know what it was that took Scott from this world. He wanted to learn all about his life beforehand. He wanted to help Scott.

Isaac had barely been able to make the promise to himself before Scott's eyes flew open and he thrust his hand forward. In his eagerness, he overshot Isaac's hand, but grabbed his wrist instead. Startled, Isaac clenched his fist and it came into contact with something cold and solid.

They stood there for a moment, wide-eyed and holding each other at the wrist when the world spontaneously crashed around them.

Scott had no idea what he did.

The world blinked in and out of focus. Nothing seemed to be in any particular order. Images and scenery flashed around Scott and Isaac like a broken film-strip that had been hastily taped back together.

_A nine year old Isaac holding his brother Camden's hand at a funeral while their father cried at their mother's grave._

_Scott having a fight with his mother about taking the family car to school and rushing out of the house in a fit to grab his bike._

_Flashes of Isaac's father. The anger. The rage. The bitterness._

_Camden leaving for the military to get away from the family. Abandoning Isaac._

_The knock on the door. The letter that Camden would never come home._

_Scott riding his bike to school, cursing under his breath._

_Mr. Lahey turning to drink night and day, but driving to work despite being hung over._

_Tires squealing._

_The crunch of metal on metal._

_Screams from a witness._

Bright red blood splattered across every image, blurring them all into one.

The world slowed down eventually, the swirling began to even itself out and the blood faded from view.

A ten year old Isaac Lahey stood in front of a hospital bed where a sixteen year old Scott McCall lie comatose. The injured teen required assistance with not only his breathing, but his heartbeat and his eating. A tear-stained young Isaac gripped his hand tightly.

"I'm sorry," the young Isaac sobbed. "I'm sorry he did this to you. Please, just be okay? He didn't mean it. He's hurting and he didn't mean it."

Scott watched it all happen with muted horror.

Holding on to the images became an impossible task. Once more the world collapsed in on itself and with a sickening silence, everything faded to black.

When the world came back into view again, the first image Scott saw was that same tear-stained face of Isaac Lahey, only six years older and holding his wrist in the woods.

Isaac couldn't believe it. He had been expecting their hands to pass through each other. He hadn't expected to take a journey to… wherever it was that they had gone. Into each other's memories?

It may have been because Isaac had wished for it. He'd wanted so badly just to learn all he could about Scott and why he was here, but this was so much more than he bargained for.

He didn't realize tears were rolling down his cheeks until they tickled the underside of his chin. Startled, he let go of Scott to wipe them away. He didn't know what to say. How would anyone know what to say? How was he supposed to react to this kind of information?

And why would he repress something like that?

Sure, he knew his father had been charged with a Hit and Run and a DUI six years ago. That was the end of the long and terrible year that had changed his life. He not only lost half of his family that year, but he'd also lost the man his father used to be. Mr. Lahey had some fairly good lawyers and only served out a small sentence in jail while Isaac stayed in a state care facility.

Isaac didn't know what kind of homecoming he'd been expecting, but his father definitely came back different. Everything Isaac knew about his life before then had been replaced with a complete nightmare.

To think he was starting to feel happy again—like he'd found someone worth spending time with only to find out that this horrible, horrible thing had happened to him? He felt as though part of it were his fault. He should have watched his father. He could have prevented this.

He swallowed hard and managed to find his voice. "Scott?" he croaked out. It sounded terrible in his ears and he tried again. "Scott, what… was that?"

Scott looked like a statue he was so still. He had an expression of horror on his face that Isaac didn't ever want to see again. Isaac wanted to have him move or change or do something, so he instinctively reached a hand out in an attempt to just fix things.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Scott flinched and blinked backward a few feet. At least the look of horror disappeared from his face. "Don't touch me!" he shouted. A couple of leaves rustled on the ground by his feet.

"Scott, I'm sorry. I didn't remember, I…"

"It was him," Scott practically growled out, cutting Isaac off. "He did this to me."

"He's sorry, Scott, he—"

"Don't you defend him!" Scott blinked forward. His face took on a different form, now. It wasn't something Isaac found in the least bit attractive. Before, with the moonlight bouncing off Scott's dark hair, Isaac found himself growing attracted to the ghost, but now Scott's image had transformed itself into the stuff of nightmares. "That man is a _monster_!"

Scott's eyes began to glow with a fierce redness. Isaac swallowed hard. "Scott, you're scaring me."

The temperature dropped to an even colder level and the air cut directly through Isaac's coat. He shivered in spite of himself. Scott rounded on him quickly, leaves spreading upward and outward in every which direction. "I will make him pay for what he did to me. To you. To us."

Isaac opened his mouth to say something—to make Scott wait, but nothing came out. Scott disappeared right in front of him and left Isaac with an overwhelming sense of dread.

Something was wrong. This wasn't a happy revelation at all. Scott was enraged and turning into something that was so much more like the horror movies.

He didn't even have to think twice about where he was going before he found himself tripping over roots through the woods toward civilization—toward his house. He hated that he had to dash through the cold and the night when Scott could practically teleport wherever he chose.

His lungs burned as he ran through the streets. He cursed himself for not bringing a more solid form of transportation, but he had expected to calmly walk home as opposed to running for his life, or was it his father's life?

When he reached his house, the lights were flickering on and off and he could hear the muffled sound of clinking glass.

Dreading what lie in store for him as he threw open the door, Isaac didn't give himself any time to soak in the situation before he yelled out, "SCOTT!"

Nothing stopped. Isaac's coward of a father sat huddled in the corner of the kitchen covered in glass dust. Shards of cups and plates surrounded him as Scott hurled everything he possibly could from the shelves. Electronics turned themselves on and off and papers flew about just like the leaves had outside.

Isaac waited a few seconds for an opportunity to get to Scott before he did any more damage. After finding the courage to launch himself directly at the ghost, the handle of a coffee mug clipped him on the side of the head and he went down, fast.

"Scott!" he cried out again, this time grunting it as he tried to stand back up. "Scott stop, now!" His vision shifted a bit and he stumbled. One hand pressed itself against the wall to keep him steady.

Scott turned slowly to face Isaac, his face streaked with tears and his eyes enraged. When their gazes locked, Scott's eyes flickered to the spot of red on the side of Isaac's head. Isaac hadn't even realized he'd been bleeding.

It was like someone flipped a switch. All the electricity went out just as the last of the objects swirling about the room fell to the floor with a resounding crash.

Cold hands pressed themselves to the cut on Isaac's head for just a second and then they disappeared. Isaac shuddered a little as the house seemed to settle itself down after what just happened.

Scott was gone.

Isaac's first instinct was to check on his father, but the old man managed to use the calm after the storm to regain his bearings and stand up as though he hadn't been frightened only moments before.

"OUT," shouted Isaac's father, practically spitting the words out with rage as he pointed to the doorway. "GET. OUT."

Isaac didn't bother wasting any more time as he scrambled out the front door. If his father was well enough to shout at him, he was well enough not to require assistance.

He had nowhere to go but the graveyard. It was safe there. Even though he was off that night, he knew the other grave diggers wouldn't tell him off for being out after hours.

Still shaken up and pumped full of adrenaline, Isaac found himself wandering about the headstones, taking the familiar path to where Scott's grave stood. He had no idea where the ghost had disappeared to, but if he were anywhere, it would be here.

Sure enough, Isaac felt Scott before he saw him. Scott was still coming down from whatever rage mode he'd conjured up before and was blinking in and out all through the graveyard shouting nonsense to either himself or someone Isaac couldn't see. He couldn't quite gather some of the words but none of them were useful. All of them hurt.

Isaac didn't say anything. He stood there, his face withdrawn, and watched Scott let out all of his anger and frustration. He watched as Scott shouted for a while and yelled curses at the sky. Then the ghost in him would stop and wail for a moment and let the sound carry on the wind until it disappeared. Isaac watched it all with his hands in his pockets and his heart in his throat. Gone was the nightmare Scott had turned into. He was back to the Scott Isaac had come to know.

"Scott," Isaac said softly, reaching out for his attention.

Scott stopped, much to Isaac's relief. He looked defeated. "Isaac," he answered. He moved forward, hesitant at first but then quickly gained speed as he gained confidence. "Isaac," he said again, throwing his arms open.

Because of what had happened in the woods, Isaac braced himself for another trip down memory lane, but nothing happened. When he opened his eyes, Scott was gone, but a quick look behind him showed that Scott only moved right through him.

It was like someone turned on the storm sirens. Scott's wailing had started up again. "I can't touch you!" he cried, yelling more at the heavens than at Isaac.

"It's okay," Isaac started, but he couldn't finish the thought, because he didn't believe it. He couldn't stand watching the grief tear away at Scott's soul. He wanted to go back to the way things were, back to that brief moment in time when Isaac was actually happy.

"If he hadn't hit me, I would still be alive. I could touch you," murmured Scott. His voice cracked and he looked so lost. Isaac didn't know what to do.

He hated seeing Scott so torn up and so sad. This couldn't be the same Scott that made him laugh—the same Scott that comforted him so many times after his father had gotten too rough. This was not the Scott that stayed with him all night in the freezer. This was a lost spirit. "It's okay," Isaac said again, willing himself to believe it. "You don't have to touch me. It's okay. As long as you're here. As long as you don't leave me, okay?"

Scott shook his head. "You don't understand. I have to touch you."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"Why?'

"Because," Scott's voice sounded far away again, even though he was mere inches from Isaac's face. He reached a hand up to try to place it on Isaac's cheek, but nothing connected. He could only feel a feathery tickle. Scott's face fell once more. "Because I'm dead. There's no one left for me but you. I can't touch the Dead and I can't touch the Living. I was nothing until you arrived. You've given me a reason to be here. I need to touch you just to prove that I'm not worthless."

"But you're not worthless, Scott," Isaac's mouth barely moved as he spoke. He couldn't imagine what Scott was feeling. He could try, but it felt impossible. "You're the most important person in the world to me."

"Isaac…" Scott's voice sounded so pained that Isaac's heart broke. He wanted so badly to hug Scott that the very idea only made his chest throb. He understood now why touch meant so much to Scott. For the first time, Isaac yearned for companionship and physical contact.

"I mean it," Isaac confirmed his statement to not only Scott but to himself. "I trust you."

The subtlest of changes occurred in Scott's face when Isaac said the word 'trust,' but it was not lost on the gravedigger. He worried for a moment that he had said the wrong thing, but then Scott smiled. It was a sad smile, and not at all like the happy cheek splitting grins Isaac had come to appreciate. "Then I should probably tell you; I'm in love with you. I have been, probably, since we first met."

The words came as a sudden shock to Isaac and the time around him seemed to slow down. He truly hadn't seen it coming. His mind seemed to flash backward to a hundred different moments they'd had together. Scott's attraction to him should have been strange to Isaac, but it wasn't. Scott had just appeared and it seemed normal and right. If anyone else had been followed so eagerly by a ghost they would have felt as though their privacy had been violated, but this was not the case with Isaac. He welcomed it.

This information didn't change a thing. Isaac still wanted Scott to stay with him. His life had picked up dramatically since the ghost's appearance. Why would he throw that away because the ghost in question happened to be in love with him? He wanted to reiterate this to Scott, but the spirit was already backing away.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Scott said quickly. Before Isaac could respond, the wind picked up around him and Scott left with it.

"Scott, wait!"

Isaac was used to Scott disappearing suddenly, but this felt different.

"Scott?"

He didn't know where to go to find him. He felt as though he could call and call but Scott wouldn't reappear again. There was no real reason why he felt like this—it was almost an instinct.

"Scott, don't you leave me." He promised. Didn't he? Did he promise? Isaac couldn't remember. He should have made him promise.

Isaac clenched his jaw to stop a rush of emotion from bursting forth, but it was useless. A fresh wave of tears rolled down Isaac's cheeks but he didn't bother wiping them away. It would be pointless anyway, especially if new tears would just replace them.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Hey watch this," Scott grinned and blinked out of the realm of visible sight._

_Those three words usually meant trouble, but it was always worth it. Isaac grinned as he turned off the engine to the backhoe. He was finished for the night and preparing for the trip home. Scott had been practicing temperature control based on something other than emotions._

_All the windows to the backhoe fogged at once and suddenly a handprint appeared on the windowpane to the right. Isaac watched as the hand dragged itself down the pane slowly. He raised an eyebrow._

_"I don't get it."_

_Scott reappeared again with a shocked look on his face. "Haven't you ever seen Psycho? You know? The shower scene?" Scott made screeching noises._

_Isaac scrunched up his face. "No."_

_"We're watching Psycho."_

_"Funny how you remember Psycho but not specific details about your life."_

_"I remember Batman, too."_

_"It's impossible to forget Batman."_

* * *

Isaac thought he knew what it meant to be alone.

He knew what it was like to have no one. Everyone who possessed even the tiniest amount of compassion for Isaac was gone.

He went to school alone. He prepared dinner alone. He suffered the anger of his father alone. Surely someone who depended on no one but himself for his own necessities would know the meaning of being alone.

And yet, this time, it hurt.

Every pretentious scholar with their philosophical cliché could go drown themselves for all Isaac cared. It was not better to have loved and lost. Isaac had finally tasted true friendship and he'd blown it. That, to him, was ten times worse than having never experienced it. He couldn't even dwell on his memories with Scott in happiness. They only made him feel worse.

Clearly anyone who had ever said that quote had never truly lost someone.

Isaac stayed in the graveyard for several hours, lost in a daze. Scott didn't return. The hope Isaac had somehow allowed to build up in his chest gave a great attempt to squash itself down, but Isaac refused to let it. He never gave himself hope, before, but now it seemed like the only thing he could do. It kept him going.

Eventually, he began to walk. One sullen foot trod in front of the other. The dead leaves crunched under the soles of his shoes. He watched as a broken shoelace created an arc with every step. He didn't bother to stop and tie it—that required too much effort and in his state, he didn't have the energy to exert.

No one told Isaac where to go. He didn't even give himself instructions. His feet carried him through the grass and the sidewalks and the roads. He didn't care where he went because each destination was lacking a certain presence and therefore each location was exactly where Isaac refused to be. He would have to keep going, even if he grew too tired to walk any more.

Because what was the point of doing anything without Scott? Isaac knew he didn't take the ghost for granted. That was impossible. If anything, he'd held him in such a high regard, he was a bit scared at how quickly that affection grew. Isaac didn't open up to strangers, or really, anyone. It was just his luck that the only person in the entire world Isaac felt he could be himself around was dead.

Flashing lights and the ear piercing sound of sirens broke Isaac from his reverie. He blinked a few times and realized he'd managed to walk toward the highway. It may have been a subconscious attempt to just skip town and leave everything behind him. Isaac didn't care what the reason was, just that he now had to deal with bright red and blue lights that cut his vision in half.

A gruff voice called out from somewhere in the vicinity of the lights. Isaac couldn't really see and in a brief moment he wondered if this was how criminals felt when they were cornered by a police vehicle. No wonder they always looked high and disoriented. If only the cops turned their lights, Isaac would be in a slightly more tolerable state.

"Answer me, boy," the voice called again. Isaac shook his head. He hadn't heard what the police officer said the first time.

Instinctively, he raised his hands, palms outstretched in an attempt to show the officer that he wasn't armed and didn't want any trouble. The simple action tugged a bit on Isaac's anxiety. He preferred keeping his hands close to this body, not wide and out in the open. He shut his eyes and turned his head to the side when the cop pulled out a flashlight. Really? Like his lights weren't enough?

"Going anywhere, son?"

Isaac curled his hands into fists but kept them in the air. Who was this guy? "No."

The officer made a satisfied noise like _Oh, he_ does _talk_, and turned off the flashlight. One light down, a million more to go. "There a reason you're out so late? There's a curfew, you know."

Isaac let his shoulders deflate a little bit. He could fight the officer tooth and nail or he could just give in. The latter sounded like the more pleasing offer. After all, being kept in a holding cell sounded a lot nicer than going home. At least the holding cell was temporary. "I can't go home," he said eventually. "I don't want to go home."

The officer muttered something under this breath that sounded like _damn runaways_ and the sound of the door opening made Isaac peek out with one eye. The officer had turned the lights off, thank goodness, but now he was rummaging through the squad car. When he returned, he had a candy bar with him.

"Come on, your family is probably worried sick about you. Let's get you home."

Isaac stared at the candy bar the man was offering to him. He couldn't figure this officer out. One minute he was blinding him with accusatory lights and the next he was apologetic? It was like Isaac was some stray dog the police officer needed to coax back into the car so they could drive him off to euthanize him. Isaac scowled and vehemently denied the sweets. "I'm not going home."

"Just get in the car, yeah?" The officer pocketed the candy with an annoyed grimace. "I don't have all night to deal with some bum teenagers. At least you don't smell like pot. Or alcohol."

Isaac frowned. "I'm not going home," he repeated.

"I won't take you home," the officer promised. Isaac felt like he couldn't believe him. Like the man would say anything just to get Isaac to go with him. "We'll just go back to the station. We'll figure it out from there."

"No," Isaac said suddenly. At first the thought of a holding cell sounded preferable to what was waiting for him at home, but if the station was filled with dickheads like this guy, then Isaac really wished he could go elsewhere. "Take me to the hospital," he said, thankful for the sudden bout of quick thinking. "I have a relative that works there. She'll take care of me."

The officer reluctantly consented. He looked young and new and like he was quite appalled at the turn of the night's events. Isaac figured he was upset about the fact that he'd picked up a depressed adolescent instead of a rowdy drug addict. Like he had actually hoped Isaac would be more of a challenge. There was one more person in the world disappointed in Isaac. Nothing new.

As Isaac climbed into the backseat of the squad car, he glanced out the window. For a moment, he thought he saw someone watching him from the guard rails on the highway, but when he leaned forward to look closer, no one was there.

That was awfully unkind of his eyes to do that to him.

* * *

_"What's it like to fly?" Isaac asked as he looked up at the sky. Flying sounded like a much more pleasant alternative to walking home in the cold._

_"It's a lot like walking I guess," Scott answered, proving his point by rising a few feet in the air while continuing to move his feet in a steady pace. "Only, you know, the ground is farther away."_

_Isaac stuffed his hands further into his pockets and snorted a little bit. "Way to turn a good thought into something completely boring."_

_"Would you like me to take you flying?" Scott grinned while floating backwards. He was just showing off, now. "We could soar over the city. I could show you the world. Shining, shimmering, splendid."_

_Isaac rolled his eyes, but it didn't stop him from laughing. "I think you died just so you could quote movies at me."_

_"Hey, when you're dead, movies are the only thing you have to pass the time."_

_"What, like sneaking into someone's home and watching movies with them?"_

_"Yeah," Scott's grin was wider, now. "The best ones are the people who watch scary movies at 2 in the morning and try to sleep afterward."_

_"And you what, haunt them? You're the least frightening ghost, ever."_

_Scott didn't seem insulted. "Thank you."_

* * *

The officer not only drove Isaac to the hospital, but he accompanied him inside after saying something about protocol. Isaac didn't care one way or another about police protocol. He just wanted to see a familiar face—one that wouldn't judge him.

He hoped Mrs. McCall would recognize him. He'd been in the hospital enough times before claiming he'd been in bicycle accidents or fell down the stairs. If anything, they might have thought him the clumsiest teenager in the city.

A nurse at the front desk paged Mrs. McCall and proceeded to give the police officer the stink eye. Isaac had to grin at that. He recognized the woman because her cheerful, round face was hard to forget. When someone looked so pleasant, Isaac tried his best to remember them.

Unfortunately, the officer didn't leave, so Isaac was stuck dealing with harsh glares in his general direction. His palms began to sweat and panicked a little, wondering what he would do or say if Mrs. McCall didn't remember him…

But then—"Oh my God, Isaac."

Mrs. McCall's familiar voice caused him to turn sharply and look up. She ran toward him, a worried look on her face. It was impossible to describe how Isaac felt in that moment—to have a mother-figure express such concern for him. He was at a loss for words.

"Nurse McCall," he murmured, his voice a bit quieter than he had intended.

"Oh, honey, we're passed that, just call me Melissa," Mrs. McCall said. Her arms twitched, as though she wanted to reach out and hug him. Isaac shied away a little.

Isaac stayed quiet, but he did respond with a short nod. He wasn't sure if he could even call her by her name, anyway. She was Scott's mom, wasn't she? That was just strange. Her appearance hadn't triggered any presence of Scott's choosing, though, because Isaac could neither see nor hear the ghost.

"Ma'am," the officer next to Isaac cleared his throat. "I found this boy wandering the edge of the highway, and he refused to give me any contact information for a parent or guardian, other than you."

"It's okay," Mrs. McCall said. She hesitated a second, but then quickly looped her arm around Isaac's. Her grip was firm and steady. "I will take him from here. Can you notify the Sheriff that Isaac Lahey is here?"

Isaac's heartbeat skyrocketed and he tried to pull himself away from Mrs. McCall but her steady grip held him in place. He gave her a terrified look, instead. "There's no need to—"

"I'm on it," the officer interrupted. He turned around quickly as he picked up his radio and said a few choice words into the receiver. Isaac wanted to stop him but Mrs. McCall was already tugging him down the corridor.

"I can't get you a room," Mrs. McCall said, despite Isaac's reluctance. "So you'll have to wait in a waiting room, but once the Sheriff gets here, we'll talk."

Isaac let her drag him through the hospital. She had a determination to her step that reminded him of Scott. He never really got to see Scot walk much, but there were little facial ticks and arm movements that just screamed Scott McCall. It made Isaac's heart feel heavy.

She led him to a less crowded room with chairs lining the walls. An elderly gentleman sat in a corner of the room reading a magazine. Mrs. McCall gave him a once over before deeming him harmless and whirled around on Isaac. She jabbed a finger at him , just barely poking him in the chest. He got the impression that she wasn't pressing as hard as she could have.

"What happened to you this time?" She gave him a look that very clearly communicated to Isaac that she wasn't going to accept a story about running into a door.

"Couldn't sleep," he tried.

She gave a sigh of exasperation and shook her head. "Stay here," she prompted and then disappeared.

Isaac didn't know what to do. He argued with himself on whether or not he should sit down or try to escape the hospital. What was he thinking, going to Mrs. McCall like that? Did he think that if he went to Scott's mother that her son would magically appear again? And now he had to sit around and wait for the Sheriff to get here. The Sheriff, with his nosy questions and droopy eyes… Isaac didn't think he could take it.

Before he even had enough time to bolt, Mrs. McCall returned with some wipes and motioned for Isaac to sit down, which he did. She immediately went to work on the side of his head and it wasn't until then that Isaac even remembered he had been bleeding since he left home.

What was he supposed to tell her? That her son was a ghost and became so angry he accidentally launched a mug at Isaac's face?

"Isaac," she said softly, depositing the used wipes into a plastic bag. "I want you to be safe."

In that moment, Isaac made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Maybe it wasn't a mistake at all. He finally saw it.

Here was a woman who had lost her son. Isaac was now the same age as her son when he died. Scott would be forever sixteen years old to her. It must have been instinct to watch over Isaac like she had. She had to know who he was… who his father was. And yet she had shown him nothing but care and concern far beyond her nursing duties.

Isaac crumpled in his seat. The information hit him hard. He thought he was alone but he'd had Mrs. McCall by his side even before he'd met Scott. How long had she watched over him as his nurse in the hospital over the years? Why had he always avoided her gaze and shut himself inside his skin?

He was about to open his mouth to say something to her. He wasn't sure what, but he knew the words would come to him eventually. His concentration broke when the Sheriff rounded the corner and entered the waiting room in a burst of energy. He smelled like the cold air outside.

"You alright, son?"

Now that Isaac's emotions were fine-tuned to those around him, the first words out of the Sheriff's mouth actually touched him. He glanced from Mrs. McCall to the Sheriff and back again. Scott had inherited his mother's eyes. When Isaac had his first real conversation with Scott, the ghost implied he knew the Sheriff as well. Here were two people who were personally touched by Scott's death, and they were now standing over Isaac. He knew what he had to do.

He swallowed back his fear. "There's something I need to tell you about my dad…"

* * *

_"Why do you let him do that to you? Why don't you do something about it?"_

_Isaac looked up from his homework. His father was watching television downstairs, but Isaac kept his voice low anyway._

_"He didn't use to," Isaac explained. "I keep thinking that one day he'll realize what he's turned into and just… maybe go back to being my dad."_

_Scott sighed. "I wish I was like that ghost from the Grudge or any of those evil ghost movies. Then I could just lure him into a closet and drag him to hell."_

_Isaac shrugged and turned to the back of his math book to copy his answers because he couldn't be troubled with working out the problems. "Or, you know, you could just change the channel s on the television to infomercials."_

_Scott made a strange noise that sounded like a gasp, "Isaac, you're a genius. I love you."_

_Three seconds later, Mr. Lahey was screaming profanities at the television and there was a distinct sound of a remote hitting the wall._

_Isaac laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes._

_When Scott reappeared a second later, he was beaming from ear to ear. "I don't think your father likes gay porn."_

_Isaac lost it._

* * *

Scott watched the squad cars pull up to the Lahey household with a satisfied smile. He looked on as Mr. Lahey was handcuffed and brought outside. A handful of officers made their way into the building. The living room and kitchen were still in disarray from Scott's interior decorating skills, which, in Scott's opinion, helped the case resolve itself sooner.

With sheer force of will, he opened the door to the basement within sight of a young deputy in order to catch her attention. She motioned for backup and disappeared down the stairs. She was only down there for a few moments before she called for backup. Scott gave a small fist pump.

They found the freezer.

* * *

_Watching Isaac sleep made the nights go by far too quickly. Scott felt more like a guardian angel than a ghost._

_He knew he'd had it bad for Isaac, but the feelings always came back tenfold when Isaac was asleep. Scott found he could just watch him for hours at a time without the worry of Isaac feeling it. It was hard to tell when he was invisible and when he wasn't and Isaac had, on numerous occasions, caught him staring. It was embarrassing._

_Scott's practice sessions on object manipulation mostly took place at night, and this night was no exception. He made an effort to keep Isaac tucked in, and, occasionally moved a curl or two away from the sleeping boy's face. He never dared try and touch his skin, though, in case the touch should wake him—but hair seemed to be free reign._

_No sooner did Scott brush a curl aside, Isaac began to stir. Scott quickly pulled his hand back and held absolutely still._

_"Scott?" Isaac asked. His eyes were still closed. Scott had no way of knowing whether or not he was actually awake._

_"Yeah?" Scott answered, trying not to sound too eager._

_"I love you."_

_Scott paused. "I love you, too."_

_"There's candy on my dresser if you want some."_

_Scott's heart caught in his chest. It was a strange feeling especially since his heart didn't beat. Isaac was definitely asleep, but Scott played along anyway. "Thank you."_

_Isaac didn't say anything else for the rest of the night._

* * *

The next month went by in a blur. Isaac made a desperate attempt to go to school, but he missed out on so much in the interim, he had to default to home tutoring.

But home wasn't home anymore.

When his father was arrested the first time, six years ago, Isaac was placed in a state home while his father went through his court cases.

Surely getting a DUI and hitting a teenager on school property would lock a man away for life, but the right money and the right influence gave Mr. Lahey an acquittal after three years and a twenty year probation sentence.

Which, of course, he took out on Isaac.

Going back to the state home wasn't a problem for Isaac, although things had changed since his last stay. The world was less kind to a sixteen year old as it was to a ten year old.

He didn't have to stay long, however. The Sheriff and Mrs. McCall visited frequently.

Isaac tried his best to keep up with his schoolwork, but on top of everything going on, he was still lonely.

Scott was nowhere to be found.

Why would he just abandon Isaac like that? Sure, if Isaac had made him sad or uncomfortable, wouldn't it wear off by then? The first time Scott disappeared, it had only been for a week.

It had been an entire month with no sign of the ghost.

If it weren't for the fact that all the pieces to the puzzle seemed to fit together, Isaac would have thought he'd just imagined Scott.

After all, the last time Isaac ever saw Scott alive, he was hooked up to all kind of monitors in the hospital. Isaac sat by his bedside and watched the machines breathe for him and just felt sorry.

He felt sorry for Scott for having to go through so much pain.

He felt sorry for his father for turning to the bottle to drink away the pain of losing his mother and brother.

He felt sorry for himself because he knew from that moment on, life wouldn't be the same anymore.

He hadn't realized that would be Scott's last day alive. He hadn't realized anything back then. All he knew was that things were bad and he had no idea how to change them for the better.

The fact was that he remembered, now. He remembered why Scott seemed so familiar when he saw him reappear as a ghost in the graveyard. He understood why Mrs. McCall and the Sheriff were trying so hard to free him from his father.

They didn't want Isaac to meet the same fate as Scott. Like they were trying to fix their mistakes.

Isaac never saw the tears. He never saw their frustrations. He only caught whatever they showed him in their visits. He saw determination and tried not to see the pity.

So when the Sheriff sat him down one day and told him he'd registered himself as a foster parent and requested to take care of Isaac, Isaac jumped at the opportunity.

"Why?" he had asked after the thoughts in his head stopped racing around.

The Sheriff gave a soft shrug and said, "My son is away at college and my house is empty."

Isaac could see the meaning behind the words. The Sheriff was as lonely as he was, and Mrs. McCall was in worse shape. She'd promised to stop by and have dinner with them several nights a week.

It was almost like having a mother and father again.

Moving into the Stilinski household didn't take much. Isaac didn't want to bring many of his belongings with him. Suddenly the need for material possessions seemed so pointless. He was content with the few things he had. The worst of it was the paperwork.

Sheriff Stilisnki didn't have to do much to make his home hospitable to Isaac. It looked like his son with the buzzcut came home enough times to keep the house in a state a young person could get behind. Isaac actually had an Xbox to play, now, and a television in his room. To him, his new home felt like a stately mansion.

Physical comforts were one thing, but there was always something missing. Isaac went through the motions of the household change with very little reaction. He was happy to be accepted somewhere so easily. He knew other kids in the foster system. He knew how hard it was to find a decent home. He'd been lucky.

Because of Scott McCall.

He often stared at the blank ceiling of his room. He liked the way the streetlight outside cast shadows on the wall through his blinds. It was therapeutic to count the silver bits of light on the ceiling and wall. He let his mind wander back and forth between the present and the recent past.

Until something changed.

The light was all wrong and it didn't take Isaac long to figure out that it was because the monitor to the computer in the bedroom had lit up. Isaac had never owned a computer, but he'd used one at school. He had no need for the technology outside of school so he mostly kept it off, but now the blue glow of the monitor lit the room. Isaac sat up on the edge of the bed to get a better look.

A slide show of pictures presented itself on the screen. It started out showing a small boy with short hair laughing and playing on the playground, but then the pictures moved onward to include a darker-skinned boy with shaggy hair.

Scott.

Isaac watched Scott grow up with this buzzcut kid. They were laughing or smiling or making ridiculous faces in nearly every picture. It hurt to watch, not just to see Scott's face look so animated and alive, but because he knew exactly how these pictures appeared there.

"That's Stiles," a voice said from beside him on the bed. "He was my best friend."

Isaac didn't turn his head. He couldn't. The edges of his vision were already blurring and he knew if he looked at Scott, it would just make things worse. "Stiles Stilinski? What kind of name is that?"

"I can't believe the Sheriff never told you his name," Scott said softly.

"He's away at college. I probably won't even see him," Isaac murmured. It was a strange feeling—to know he was in the house of Scott's best friend. How many times had Scott come over to just hang out? Isaac wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to bring comfort in the realization.

"I knew the Sheriff," said Scott's voice. "I knew he couldn't let this case rest. I knew he would take you in."

"You did… all of that?" Isaac asked. He found the courage to finally look over.

Scott was sitting on the bed next to him. Isaac could see him as clearly as if he were alive. The urge to reach out and touch him was so strong, but the fear of having his hand pass through Scott won. Isaac clutched himself tighter.

"For you?" Scott caught his eyes. "Yeah."

Isaac didn't turn away. Eye contact was hard. He had never been very good at making it before, but he felt it was important to keep it, this time. It meant everything to him to just hold onto Scott's gaze. He could see the eyes of Melissa McCall staring back at him, only he never doubted Scott's concern even for a second.

"Where were you?" Isaac asked eventually. He had to know.

"Fixing things," Scott explained. He motioned around to the room Isaac was sitting in. "It's hard enough to get a plan to work properly when you're alive. Try doing it when you're dead."

Isaac frowned. "But you didn't have to avoid me the entire time," he said, swallowing hard. "You could have said hi. Something. I missed you."

Scott faded for a moment and Isaac instinctively reached forward to try and stop him but came up short. Isaac barely blinked and suddenly Scott was standing in the middle of the room.

"But you were okay, right?" his face was pained, now, like he was trying hard to keep himself in one spot. "It hurt, but you were okay?"

"Yeah, I guess, I mean…" Isaac shook his head. "It would have been much easier if you were there. I need someone to talk to I need… I need you to stay here with me."

"I can't," Scott said sadly. His eyes focused on a spot behind Isaac. "I can't stay forever."

"But you're a ghost. You're almost immortal. As long as your spirit doesn't pass on, you can stay—" Isaac stopped.

Suddenly he understood.

He spun around to look at the wall behind him but found nothing. What had Scott been staring at?

He looked back to Scott. "No," he said firmly. "You can't. You're not done, yet."

"But I am," Scott reassured him. "Your father has been taken back into custody. He cannot hurt you anymore. You're with people who will care about you."

"But it's not you! I'm not with you!" the volume of Isaac's voice rose and with it, uncertainty. "I only just got you back, you can't leave again!"

Scott didn't say anything. Isaac hated everything again. What would have happened if he'd said something to Scott in the graveyard when Scott confessed? Would they have had more time? If Scott did all of this because of what he felt for Isaac—because he wanted him to be happy… that just wasn't fair. Isaac was happy with Scott, so what part of making Scott disappear would help?

There were rules and forces here that Isaac just didn't understand. He just wanted time. He needed more time to figure out just what was going on with him. He wanted to let Mrs. McCall talk to her son he—

"Your mom," Isaac said suddenly. "You can't leave her, either."

"My mom is okay," whispered Scott. "She made her peace with my passing, and she's still making her peace now, with you. She knows I loved her. She knows she doesn't have to apologize for anything, and she knows that I don't either. It's not my mom I came back for, it was you."

Tears found Isaac's eyes, now. "Then stay for me."

"We both know that isn't possible."

Scott's body faded more. It wasn't just a trick of the monitor glow. Isaac could actually see through him. He reached a hand out and was relieved to find that Scott did the same.

They didn't touch, but the fact that their hands were occupying the same space brought Isaac comfort. Scott smiled sadly at their hands and moved forward to carefully bring his lips to Isaac's.

Isaac swore he could feel the lightest brush of air over his mouth—like someone had pressed a feather to his lips. He didn't close his eyes. He couldn't risk it. By the time Scott pulled away, Isaac's eyes were stinging.

"Thank you," Isaac choked out. The words weren't enough to really convey everything he wanted to say. _Thank you for saving me. Thank you for staying by my side when I was scared. Thank you for befriending me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for stopping my father. Thank you for showing me people do care about me. Thank you for giving m a reason to smile again._

Scott nodded because he understood. Isaac's shoulders sagged.

Once more Scott glanced over Isaac's shoulder and Isaac resisted the urge to turn around to see just what it was. He knew it was nothing he could see, himself.

The last thing Isaac saw before Scott disappeared was a genuine smile from the ghost—the kind of smile Isaac had come to love. The kind that reached all the way to the corners of his eyes.

Isaac didn't realize he was crying until the room felt unusually still and empty and his cheek itched with the movement of his tears.

It was going to hurt for a long time. Isaac knew this. Healing wasn't going to be easy, but he knew he had to do it. Scott had given him a second chance at life. Isaac could never forget him.

After all, Scott was his first friend, first kiss and first love all rolled into one first experience with a ghost. He knew he would see Scott again someday, but until then, he was going to give the life he'd been given everything he had.

A sudden knock on his door caused Isaac to jump but when the Sheriff poked his head inside, Isaac visibly relaxed.

"Everything okay in here?" Sheriff Stilinski asked.

Isaac couldn't help but give him a soppy smile and wiped his tear-stained face on his sleeve. "I'm fine."

And he was. Or at least he was going to be.


End file.
